


The red weave

by hlizif



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-12
Updated: 2015-04-03
Packaged: 2018-02-20 21:08:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2443208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hlizif/pseuds/hlizif
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a beach of Essos a exiled bear and a runaway princess meet for the first time and the world changes. AU from the very beginning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Maybe this was the reason why Targaryens had white skin and hair, four hundred years of honor and history so a little girl could hide between the white dunes of the Essos coastline.  Unlikely at best, delusional most likely, Aegon the conqueror himself would renounce her. After all how could this barely standing, shoeless, starving and sunburn beggar drinking from a rotten pool of rainwater be the blood of the dragon? At the least she had managed to keep out of the eye of anybody, and most importantly, out of the eye of the passing ships, even if she had managed to lose her dainty slippers even before crossing out Pento’s gates she had no desire to be turned into pirate’s or smuggler’s loot. The heat was scorching during the day and the opportunities of her being seen higher so she only used it to forage, even if the water, insects and crabs made her queasy. The night was for walking, always along the water always North, toward home, more like, toward the closest thing to home she has ever knew.

-We are close my children-They have to be because she isn’t sure how long will she last-Soon there will be a nice brazier, you won’t be cold anymore-

Even if she allowed other’s to see he, would they think her crazy for speaking to them? Or would they only see rocks? Like the handmaidens in Illyrio Mopatis house had. But they were not rocks, she knew, they were her children and the only ones that she had left in the world now, after, after she, after she had killed Viserys. She used to dream all the time of the house with the red door and the lemon tree, now what little she could sleep was jumpy and restless, full of fear and of her brother hands pushing her against the bed, his words, the sneer on his mouth, the sickening sound of his head against the unyielding shell of the egg on her hand.  Sometimes she would only dream of him lying on the floor unmoving, those were the worst, no sound no violence, just a roar of desperation that wouldn’t let her wake up and stop seeing her brother’s blood seeping on the carpet.

-I don’t want to sleep my children-Maybe that’s why she could keep walking after everything, thinking she could outrun her own mind, and all those that must be hunting for her now-Lets sing a song, yes?-

She had made sure that they were always in the sun even if she didn’t, close and halfway buried in the boiling sands, she could not make a fire but she could make her children as comfortable as they could be while on the run.  And children need songs right? She clearly remembers a servant girl getting her infant son to sleep with one such melody. But nobody ever sang to her, from the moment she had memory mother was long gone and Viserys was not one for songs, not happy ones at the least. But she did remember one, heard again and again on halls, and inns and holes in the ground, even if her brother sneered at it, it was popular and most importantly it was happy, her children should only have happy songs.

-Now how it went? - She knew the half forgotten humming came out of his mouth awkwardly at best, but at the least there was nobody there to laugh- A bear there was, a Bear, A BEAR, all …black and white and…and-

She furrowed her brow attempting to make out the words, if she couldn’t remember even this, how could she sing the whole song. Even then she most certainly was not expecting the man’s voice helping her along.

-And covered with hair-

She was not ashamed to recognize her scream being a shrill panicked thing. After the weeks alone and hiding, the man voice could not elicit any other response than sheer utter terror, even if he stood there by his horse smiling through his beard, as nonthreatening someone that doubled her size could. It didn’t matter, she could recognize a warrior, even under that cheerful yellow shirt and ridiculous peacock scabbard he was carrying, he had the same standing that she remembers from Ser Darry’s better days. So then, a sells sword? An assassin? A…a knight? Had they finally caught up to her? Whoever THEY, may be.

-I have been told numerous times that my signing voice it’s truly nothing to write home about but I see they were being kind.-

She observed him carefully as he tied his horse down on the shadow always making sure his hands were under her line of sight, there were plate armor pieces tied to one of the flanks of the animal. He left it there, along most of his bags, only carrying a small one when coming closer to her, his other hand upwards; movements slow, and body low; she had seen men approach wild dogs that way. She must be really a mess for this man to worry about her actions.

-Peace child, just this old knight and his horse seeking refuge from the midday. We have clean water and food and- he gave her a little self-deprecating smile as he sat under her rocky outcrop, barely giving her children’s a glance- this bear may not be the fairest but he knows his songs.

The best would be to still side with caution so she kept her stare distrustful, something he valiantly ignored, that’s it till he finished unpacking. A loud growl startled her before sinking in shame after realizing it was her stomach at the simple sight of dried fruit and meat. He was kind enough to not make comments about it and his laugh had no bite to it, even while he laid a sizeable amount of his food in front of her.

-I don’t suppose I have to prove it isn’t laced with anything if I am eating the same? - He laughed yet again under the fire of her glare; apparently he didn’t find her as dangerous as she initially thought. –Eat child, you look about to kneel over from starvation.

The simple meat and fruit tastes like glory in the wake of deprivation so she proceeds to devour them as if they were the last scraps in the world.  His, surprisingly intense, blue eyes never leave her but he does join in eventually after also handing over his waterskin to her.  The midday sun still rages over when they finish and he doesn’t seem to be going away every soon because he lays down, exhaling a sigh of pleasure at the cold sand and closing his eyes. Picking on the remnants of the food she feels a sudden and deep shame realizing she has neither given him thanks for it, as a matter of fact she has not even spoken to him.

-I…-That surprises him enough to make him open a eye, but makes no movement beyond that-….thank you-

His apparent serenity makes her want to speak, too much time has passed since she had the luxury of small talk.

-A knight?-

-A knight- He snorts in what could be called amusement- Blessed by the High Septon himself, for what it’s worth -

-Like in the stories….-She can’t finish that train of thought because he outrights laughs at it, is a mocking laugh but also one full of hurt’s that she has no force or interest in digging out. Maybe she should instead figure in how much a trouble she was.-What come news from Pentos?-

-Beat me child, I travel to Bravos from Norvos, and before that from places to far away to hear news of any kind, I have yet to see Pentos in three full years-

-Oh, that is nice, I suppose-A big amount of tension she didn’t even know she had left her body-What kind of places ser….mmm-

-Jorah, Ser Jorah Mormont of Bear Island, Westeros-  A bear indeed, like the song - And if I am to be the storyteller today, knowing one audience goes a long way, or so I have been told-

-Dany-She was not going to give him anything more, not yet anyway.

-Well Dany that travels to Braavos, do not fear, I know nothing of why or whom you run away.

-I am not running away-That had come across as rather defensive though-I just…wish to go to Braavos-

-What for? A pretty child like you has no business in Braavos, unless you are planning to be a courtesan-

-Do you dare-She was half a mind to use the man head as another impromptu test of resistance against one of her egg’s- I would never…that it’s so disgusting.

-Peace child, peace- He was smiling again, as if he had just told a funny joke instead of making abominable assumptions about her-Courtesans are very respected in Braavos, you know, and with those looks of yours….-

-I don’t wish to speak of this anymore-

-Anything you wish your grace-

That made her jump almost as high as when he had finished the song for her.

-How do you?- How could he indeed- You said you didn’t come from Pentos Ser, do you lie to me so quick?

-I do not lie; it’s easy to know, what, if not whom, you are child. Essos may have forgotten but from where I come from every child knows what those eyes and hair of yours mean. And well…-He made a jerking movement toward her children- ..I to have some idea what those are. But we can keep on with this mummer’s show if that’s what you wish.

Daenerys Targaryen observed her children roast in the sun, half her mind wondering if they liked it and the other half pondering on if she had the courage to admit her name before this strange, this knight of her homeland brought to her by fate. Maybe that’s what he was, a gift of the gods for the last Targaryen, even if she was a kinslayer, could she admit to that to?

-The road to Braavos is still long Ser Jorah, for the moment you owe me a song.

He also had quite the nice smile, this golden bear.

 


	2. Chapter 2

She has shoes now, they are too big for her but the bandages he put on her feet make up for the size difference and they are soft leather, very comfortable specially since she isn’t walking anymore but sitting on the horse.  Instead he is walking, opening road in front of them under the moonlight, away from any of the main roads.

-I shouldn’t be using your horse…

-What kind of knight would I be if I let a lady walk while I ride?-He let out another of those gruff snorts of his- Anyway, I wouldn’t be ridding at night either, bad for the animal, you can’t see, he can’t see, bad combination. This is the best solution to both, you on the horse it’s just an extra, but you can walk to if you so wish it, he will thank you for it. -

-I..I would prefer to stay here -

-Clever girl-

It was not hard to move, the night was clear and the sea like a mirror, so sharp she could almost pretend Westeros was visible, just beyond it as if she could extend her hand and touch it for the first time. But she knew it was a fantasy, it didn’t matter, even if she were somehow to appear there she wouldn’t recognize it, home was in Braavos beyond a red door.

-Tell me about Westeros Ser Jorah-

-What would you like to hear your grace?-

-Tell me; tell me of your lands; of the North-

-Well if you were to ask a southern about it, they would tell you it’s the closest thing to hell you could find on earth, a frozen hell. Most people of Essos would also tell you is hell, but since they already live in it they would just tell you is more cold to what they are accustomed-

-And what would Ser Jorah Mormont say?-

-I would say its home, even through the long winters and the cold, and only having bear skin to wear AND bear skin to eat. Those are the things people from outside notice; they never stop to feel the earth beneath their feet, hear the dark trees whispering or feel the old magic crackling inside the weirdwoods…..-

-A weidwood?-

-Aye, they are trees, they grow thick beyond the wall, but they are still abundant in the whole North, Bear island, my home, had a fair share of them-His eyes were also looking at the sea as if he could see his _weirdwoods-_ Their trunks are white my lady, as the snow they grow in, their leaves and sap are red, the hearts and blood of every Northman that fell in battle, every Northwoman that died on childbed, and their faces weep for them-

-Trees don’t have faces-

-Aye, but this one’s do child, some say the children of the forest carved them, some that they grow along with the tree, it doesn’t matter,  all weirdwoods have faces and they all weep-

-It sounds….morbid-

-Aye, it may seem that way, when told like this, but everything has two faces child, life and death. We also call the weirdwoods heart trees, for couples marry underneath them, covered by the hearts of their people and surrounded by the soul of their land-

She tried to imagine it, marring beneath a white tree of red leaves with faces all over its trunk, weeping blood like sap. Her dressed in furs while the snow fell to cover the land in a blanket till were sight could reach.  She had no face for the man in front of her, but that didn’t matter she didn’t had a face for the man they wanted to marry her in Pentos either, and she was sure THAT wedding in the desert wouldn’t  had been magic at all.

-Did you ever have one ser Jorah?-

-A what?-

-A weirdwood wedding-

-Aye child, the first one was under a weirdwood, the second was in a sept because that it’s what she wanted and I am a fool.  My first wife she, she died in childbirth, both she and the child, sometimes I feel that all the bad choices I made after that were because she was angry that I dared to marry so far away from home, because I didn’t marry under her heart. –

-I am sorry-

He shrugged apparently not disturbed but with his back to her she had no real idea if he was just playing it as if didn’t matter anymore.

-I’ll have to pass on telling the tale of my second marriage, I am afraid that one needs much more alcohol in my body than all I have left on my bags right now-

Nor she had any wish to be alone with a drunken man in the middle of nothing.

-The sun it’s going to rise soon, we will still have several hours for walking before we have to stop at midday, the closer we get to Braavos the easier the weather will get-

Yes, she could already see the rose tones of the clouds in the east; it didn’t take much for the firsts rays of light to peek behind them. Her knight had grown quiet again, like he had for most part of the night, a man of many words he was not. Some part of her was thankful because she had no idea of what to say to him either; but another part of her wished for someone who would make her laugh or to be silly with, things she had never been able to do in abundance before now that she could, in theory, she had no one or no reason to.

-There are some seagrapes ahead; they make good places to rest, very thick shadows, and good covering-

-The midday it’s not yet here ser, shouldn’t we have some hours left?-

-Aye, but it’s a good place to rest, better to stop early than risk been caught without refuge in sight and with the sun burning your back-

The small trees did make a nice refuge, even if they still had to rest in the sand, she was getting very tired of sand everywhere even if it allowed to keep her children warm.  She proceeded to bury them again under his amused stare while he unloaded the horse and left him to graze,  she knew his name now, Ned because he was stubborn as a mule, and no Jorah was not going to explain that. 

-We are going to leave the coastline soon if we hope to find some water, we are running short and Braavos it’s still far away-

-Very far away?-

-Not so much, you had already covered an impressive amount of land by the time I found you, and without shoes to-

She helped him unpack now that her children were taking his daily sunbath and blushed under his words of praise; she wasn’t a useless princess after all.

-Although, the only reason you still have feet’s must be more that you walked along the beach than anything else, pure dumb luck actually-

What, how he dared? She prepared herself to deliver the most scathing remark that she could but when she looked at him there was a small devious smile on his face. He was, he was joking with her, she could almost not believe it but then it grew bigger at her shock. Oh, what a insufferable man, without any real idea of what to say she settled for pushing him from his crouching position and into the sand which in turn sent him into peals of laughter.

-Stop, laughing, you can’t I am a princess- That sent him laughing harder for some reason, maybe because she looked like anything but a princess at the moment-  Oh you terrible, terrible man, bear…..-

And then she just couldn’t avoid it and stopped laughing along him, his laugh feeding her and the other way around till they were wheezing and there were tear on their eyes, she wondered if that was because neither had laughed in a long time. Afterwards they just laid there on the sand looking at the big leafs above them and the grapes that were not grapes slowly swaying in the sea breeze.  

-You never told me why you are going to Braavos child-

-I could ask you the same ser-

He snorted and rose to dig between his bags, finally returning with the water to her side.

-That it’s hardly a mystery, I am between jobs and tired of having to deal with the Dothrakis, jobs in Norvos and Pentos always end involving them somehow. Jobs in Braavos usually are either about killing someone or sailing, I am up to both-

She grabbed the waterskin from his hands and took a long gulp pondering what should she say or not. The thing was, she needed help, and she didn’t know anybody in Braavos, to this point she had not even though what she would do once she got there, maybe he could help her.

-I am looking for my home.-

-And that home it’s in Braavos?-

-Yes, I grew up there in a big house with a red door-

-That it’s not very specific child, who knows how many houses with a red door exist in Braavos-

-I will remember it; I know I will. It had lemon trees in the yard, and under my windows-

He stopped suddenly, the waterskin she had given back halfway there to his mouth, and gave her a look of deep pity that made her angry.

-Child, there are no lemon trees in Braavos-

That felt like a bucket of ice water on her body; that made no sense. What was she remembering then? Where was her home? And she couldn’t ask anybody, now that Viserys…. Better not go that way she already felt about to break in tears. Ser Jorah looked at her with a deeply ashamed expression, as if it were somehow his fault that lemon trees didn’t grow in Braavos. Silently he finished unpacking by himself and gave her food; they ate in silence, suddenly uncomfortable the moment created by their laughs destroyed.  Finally after what seemed an eternity he addressed her again.

-Better to sleep, if we want to keep going during the evening and the night.

One of the big advantages of the road they were taking was that even if sand got everywhere it was comfortable to sleep on, and you could even make a pillow by putting clothe over a mound. He looked ready to drop as he laid down.

-Don’t worry about problems; Ned, the old grouch, can’t stand pretty much anybody, not even me, if someone tries to get close he will make enough sound to wake up the dead.

They settled in silence again, she thought for a moment that the sun in the green leaves above them was the most beautiful thing she had seen in her life.

-Ser Jorah?

He looked sleepy, halfway there to a dream, she wondered when was the last time he slept before having to carry a runaway with him.

-mmmm.yes?

-When we get to Braavos, its likely there will be people looking for me with a reward, from Westeros or Pentos I don’t know. Are you going to give me up?

He looked at her, both surprised, he must had though her more innocent than this, and conflicted, after a moment he closed his eyes with a pained look.

-I don’t know child.


	3. Chapter 3

Braavos was nothing like she remembered, which made her heart drop, surely she should at the least remember the Titan, it was impossible to miss. As a matter of fact they could already see it clearly, even from half a mile off the city gates, yet she had not a single memory from it, now she wondered if they had, truly, ever lived in Braavos. Her eyes were not the only ones draw to the imposing figure, all around them half of the people on the long line waiting to enter the city split their time keeping watch on their things and gaping at the statue. The other half, like Jorah, were those already familiar with the thing and busier watching everybody else with suspicion than losing their time with the landscape.

-There are so many people…-

Her bear grunted, eyes still everywhere but on her, even while his hands kept sure of Ned by his side.

-Braavos is one of the big hubs of the continent, like Pentos and Volantis, there it’s always people coming here to try their luck, most end dead on a ditch somewhere- He gave her a quick look, obviously checking the covering he had draped all over her hair- Make sure to keep that on, anybody looking for you it’s long here-

The city stank, the same salty air that had accompanied her on the journey suddenly mixed with those of a big harbor, rotten fish and human waste on the canals and blood, everywhere the metallic odor of blood permeated to the roots of the city.

The inn room where he leaves her is nice, nothing fancy but clean, a welcoming change from the rest of the city.  Jorah tells her he is going to find a guide, someone who could know where her house is, but he never looks into her eyes and they both know the house isn’t here. After he leaves she never tries the door, not wanting to find it locked.

 

Jorah watched them take her away from the end of the hall, his eyes never reaching her face and hands like claws around the bag of golden dragons.

Afterwards he wanders the city for hour’s shame and self-preservation doing their long accustomed dance on his head, and his mind provided him horrible images of her potentially horrible fate.  Just a girl yelled his conscience, so low have you fallen, a Targaryen murmured a more insidious part of him, one that speaks with rocks as if they were children, she is long gone, like all of them.

He is sitting on a half crumbled piece of wall when the little bird comes to him. 

 

Once he has purpose he moves quickly, finds old contacts, a ride out of town and sells the horse then he patiently waits for the last rays of the day to make his move. Finding the ship is easy and entering even more, they mistakenly believe that anonymity is more than enough protection, well they forgot there was at least one man that did know. Knocking cold the lonely guard at her door is easy; slashing his throat while unconscious is not because he tries to think he is not that kind of man.

–You came back-

He wants to yell at her, that she shouldn’t smile at him like that, that she shouldn’t smile at anybody at all, that they would only betray her. But he can’t, not in the face of her silly childish hope, so he gives her a curt nod and makes off with her on the shadows of the night.  They don’t take much time in finding the guard and the empty cabin, but by the time the yelling starts and the torches are light he has them both bundled in a long black cover and hidden on a hole of the wall.

-I knew you would come back-

That is the only thing she says before falling asleep huddled against him and the bag containing the stones, no recriminations, no yelling’s just pure, and very unwise, trust. He doesn’t sleep, just grip at his sword pommel all night.

Morning finds them haggard and ugly looking hiding by the port, close to an equally haggard looking boat, the yellow flags with the Barethon emblem made him nervous but the people looking for them  even more so, at the very least this one’s didn’t  know their faces.

-That’s the ship, I’ll go speak with the captain-He turned toward her dropping a few silver coins on her hand and pointed towards a dirty establishment drowned between a slaughterhouse and what looked like a whorehouse-Get in there, ask for hair dye in black, don’t speak to anybody else and for the god’s sake keep your head wrap-

-That sounds…shifty-

He laughed at her for that, really there was no need.

-This is Braavos child, being shifty it’s what everybody expects- 

He was right; the decrepit woman mixing herbs at the end of the dark chamber barely gave her a glance except to demand payment for the reeking bag of black powder. After he came back Jorah cut her hair with one of his knifes behind a tavern by the canals and with the same water he mixed the black powder into a dirty paste, spreading it on what remained of her white curls.

-It itches-

-That means it’s working. Now keep quiet girl, the ship is from Westeros so it would be on our best’s interests that they don’t discover either of us. Since my accent refuses to disappear I have told the captain we are from the North, just a sellsword and his Essos born daughter, Bran and Lya.-

-No last names…-

-No, and remember that, it’s important, no last names, no tittles, nothing-

The captain is a good man, one Jorah vaguely remembers, more by reputation than an actual meeting, luckily.  He is also kind enough to keep his suspicions only on his eyes, while he gives the girl speculative looks, and he likes to entertain her with stories of the sea and the animals that live on it, and sometimes of animals that nobody can say with certainty that they even live.

-That is impossible. –

-Is truth as I have seen them with my own two eyes, women, half beauty half fish, that devour those fool enough to fall for their charms-

She looks at Jorah in doubt who gives her a half convinced shrug, he may have not encountered them but he is after all from the north and has seen more unbelievable things in the darkness of winter, so he is not ready to dismiss the captain, nobody really knows all the things that lurk in the deeps. Daenerys gapes and spends the day half draped over the board rails trying to catch a glimpse of a golden tail or a long strand of hair; he spends the day fretting over her falling over.

Eventually things come to head, the boat is quiet and the last rays of the sun had disappeared long ago leaving the sea a vast expanse of black when the captain approaches him, Daenerys already asleep on the small quarters they call their own. Neither of them are men’s of many words so they stay in silence for a long time, watching the stars.

-I do know you, you know. From the siege of Pyke- Of course how could he forget that- I think you were the first to break in? -

-No, it was Thoros-

-Ha, yes the red priest wasn’t it? With his flaming sword, I would call him a madman but….-

-But madmen usually do things like sneaking onion ships to castles under siege?-

-I was going to say it was not polite, but yes, that to-

It was easy to share a smile with the man, even when speaking of something that could cost him his neck; he didn’t even want to think of what could happen to her.

-So, now what? Are you going to demand my head in the name of honor, like Ned Stark did?-

-Oh, Lord Stannis would demand your head to I am sure, but, well, I am too conscious of what it means to live with a sword hanging over your head all the time or doing whatever it takes for love for that matter- The man makes a slow arch with his arms as if asking him to appreciate the view- We are not technically in Westeros anyway. –

They stay like that for a while, just them and the sea in silence, until Jorah breaks it before disappearing under the belly of the ship.

-I don’t know how it happened but, you are a good man Davos Seaworth

They reach Tyrosh the next morning.


	4. Chapter 4

Nobody was waiting for them at Tyrosh but Jorah kept looking over his shoulder and refused to settle. He would leave her on the inn for days with just about enough food and disappear like smoke the gods know where. They weren’t there for a month before he had somehow get them safe passage toward the summer islands, she didn’t mind to be uprooted yet again, Tyrosh streets were colorful from her high window but the eyes of everyone were colder than the snow she had yet to see.  

This time the travel was uneventful, the dry goods merchant was a petty little thing that didn’t care for her as long as he got paid and Jorah pulled his weight around the ship. It was while looking at him, sweating under the brazing sun, pulling the ropes from the high veils  that she fell the stirrings of something it would take her years to put  a name to.

Lotus port was nothing like Braavos regardless of the fact they both had sea water, ships and that dead fish smell all port’s seemed to need. Here that smell didn’t mix with the sweetness of decomposition but with the equally sweet smell of rotting fruit.  Bravos had been cold, hard like the steel swords they cherished so much, while Lotus looked more like the fruits baskets they had for sale, hot and wet, half dripping, half rotten, always colorful. 

-Come, I have a place to stay here, I know the…owner-

It turned out that it wasn’t an inn or anything alike, but a house, were Jorah would pay with gold and work for room and food. It was a nice place, old and very big, surrounded by trees, here houses seemed to be so far away from each other, so unlike any other place Dany had been before, houses on the continent barely had space to move between them much less miles of fruit plantations. The interior was more like a dream, were every manse and “luxurious” palace she remembered was a memory of brown dirt and harsh stone here everything was white, blue and green. White of cold marble under her feet, of lace curtains like ghosts fluttering between the harsh light outside and the shadows inside, of the sheets on her bed and of the linen dress Jorah got for her. Blue in the decorations of the tiles, animal after animal, flower after flower, a jungle in blue and white covering the walls, blue of the endless sky above and of the equally endless turquoise sea. And green, green of the other jungle, the one outside, always relentless, trying to invade the house, covering full halls and creeping through cracks on the walls.  

The owner that Jorah “knew” was Ife, a big woman of skin like chocolate, thick smiles and thicker hips that regarded Dany with that level of absentmindedness most adults reserved for small children and the mentally retarded. But then what interest could she possibly have in her, just a girl, all knees and elbows that scurried around the house like an unobtrusive shadow and warmed stone eggs on the sun.  She didn’t mind, time and her brother attentions had left her wary, others hadn’t helped, every person she had know before seemed to want something from her, at this point indifference sounded more like peace than anything else. And peace indeed it was, no court to hold, no handmaidens to be wary off, no brother or rich merchants to placate. She wondered if her travel toward Braavos left her half wild, because some days she was sure had forgot how to talk and it didn’t take her long to lose her shoes again, walking barefoot between the shadows of the trees and curtains, eventually even outside, into the trees.  

She found what little companionship she needed on the kitchens, were Ife’s mother Yejide ruled as sure as any queen and where no man dared to enter. Around the hearth batting eggs and pulling the feathers out of dead chickens she learned of gods and mortals, of food and fire, she learned to cook. She even remained when other women whose name she never learned brought news from all around the islands, who was born, who died, who married and who cheated, she learned of the secret world she never cared or even knew, the world that resided warm under the stairs and she wondered if this was what it meant to have a mother. 

Jorah worried, at the beginning- There are others your age close by, it would do you good- But eventually he to forgot and left her be, more worried about whatever he did on the docks at morning and working around the house in the evenings. More worried with Ife and their midday naptime on the hammock, under the shadow of the mangoes in the backyard. Ife whose smiles were thicker and wetter for him when she giggled and moaned under his, so big, hands and above him, all glistening naked skin. They squirmed, playful like children and Dany would watch them, crouched in the shadows of the portal.  Her own hands would be wet to, on the mango she always made sure to snatch before they took reign under them, the flesh tender and soft under teeth’s, her eyes as unwavering as the string of anger/shame/desire on her belly.

But for all her resentment of Ife and her hips she was still the one she ran to when, during the first storm of the season, with the air crackling and charged she woke up with a pool of blood between her legs.  Jorah falling of naked from her bed tangled in the mosquito net, sword already in hand, would have been somewhat funny/infuriating/desirable if she wasn’t so sure of her imminent death. Ife wasn’t one for hysterics though, or shame for that matter, that night on the portal Dany learned not only to wash blood out of linen but everything she apparently had to know of cotton in her underwear and of men’s and women and “dicks” and “cunts” She tried not to think how she already knew that last part, not with Jorah looking at them with a half amused half abashed smile on his face so close by, sitting half naked on the portal rail with the storm downgraded to a pitter-patter of drops and frogs at his back.

 The next day, with the earth still wet and that electrifying charge on the air, Yejide dressed her in white with blue beads collars and bracelets then taking her hand and a basket of white roses marched toward the enraged sea. They entered enough for the water to lap their knees, Danny carrying the basket by then.

-An offering for the Mother, little mother-

-I am not a mother Tata-

The old woman gave her a thoughtful look and a toothless smile.

-Not yet little mother, not yet-

That’s was enough she supposed, and left the precious charge float away on the next wave, watching till the hungry sea devoured it. When they got back Jorah waited on the porch steps, he said nothing but gave her a new dress


End file.
